Epilogue
Colt
The wind was howling in the trees, signaling the beginning of fall—now Cheyenne’s favorite time of the year—and I was beat. The restaurant was thriving now more than ever, and we had even expanded our hours to include breakfast during the week and brunch on Sundays. People would flood the restaurant before scooting on up the road to the church, and it made for some very chaotic days. I was ready to get home and wrap the whole of my arms around Cheyenne, who I knew could use a foot massage at this point.
I parked the truck and hopped on out, but a movement caught my eye through the window. Cheyenne was bent over, no doubt trying to fiddle with something I told her to leave be, and for a second, I just stood there. I admired the sweat dripping from her brow and simply took in her glowing skin. I knew she was uncomfortable and ready for this entire part of her life to be over, but I was relishing every second. I enjoyed waking her up with my face planted between her legs. I enjoyed giving her foot rubs that made her moan like I had wrapped the whole of my lips around her toes. I loved the hot baths we took together and the massages she begged for on her lower back that almost always led to licking up her drippings as they ran down her leg.
I loved this part of her life, and I if I had it my way, she’d stay pregnant for the rest of her days.
I watched her look out the window at me, and she seemed relieved. The wind whipping through the yard shuffled the clothes on my back, and they seemed to push me to the stairs of our porch. Even the earth was beckoning I go home to her, and when she flung the door open, she stepped out—stomach first—into the cool autumn breeze.
“How’re my two girls?” I asked. I dipped down and kissed her sweating forehead before I leaned over and kissed her stomach. I felt a small kick against my lips, and I couldn’t help but swell with pride, but that same kick that I admired almost took Cheyenne to her knees.
“Whoa, whoa, let’s get you sitting down,” I said.
“She’s been wreaking havoc on my life today,” she said with a grunt.
“Like mother, like daughter.”
“Shut up,” she groaned.
“You know you love it.”
It had been three years. Three years that I’d had this beautiful woman in my life, and now she was ripping her entire body apart to have my child. There wasn’t a second that went by that I never understood how incredibly lucky I was to have the devotion and passion of a woman as strong and sensual as Cheyenne, and every day I tried to show her just how much I cherished what she gave me. I sat in front of her and put her feet in my lap, and when her shirt rolled up over her stomach and showed me the purple stretch marks cascading around her belly button, all my tongue wanted to do was trace their outlines.
“You look beautiful,” I said.
“I’m a beached whale.”
“Hardly.”
“How was work?” she asked.
“Busy, as usual. These new hours are really bringing in some decent money, but it’ll half kill me to work them.”
“I’m telling you, you should hire someone. Especially with this little one on the way.”
“And I told you, I officially hired Michael. He’s on vacation to figure some things out with his farm, and when he comes back, he’ll be full time.”
“Good. You need some help over there anyway,” she said.
Cheyenne ended up taking some of the money and creating the summer camp program she had always dreamed of. The first summer was such a hit that she added four more weeks and expanded the advertising to the surrounding areas, and the next two summers brought in enough cash flow for her to fully expand. Our relationship had blossomed in every way imaginable, and after that second summer session of camp, she officially moved in.
The grantors weren’t happy about her moving off-site, but things had increased so much with the restaurant that I had to quit ranching altogether. After a long talk one night with Cheyenne and Tiffany, we decided to officially close Smith Ranch and instead make our ranch simply the expansion Cheyenne had been seeking. Her horse sanctuary expanded into our domain, she was able to take on more horses—and even other animals—to rehabilitate, and her farm became a full-time, fully-functioning horse preservation farm for children who wanted to come learn, ride, and take care of horses.
She had her main summer camps there, and she did her rehabilitation work at Smith Ranch.
Which, in all reality, was now simply her home.
For a while, we weren’t sure what to do with her house. It stayed unused for quite some time, but eventually, it got to the point where Cheyenne needed full-time help. Bouncing between her preservation ranch and her newly-expanded animal rehabilitation sanctuary was wearing her down, and when she put herself in the hospital because she was neglecting her health, I put my foot down. She kept saying she didn’t have the funds to hire anyone full-time to help her, and I finally convinced her to let me take a look at her books.
When I realized she had all but fully paid her ranch off, that freed up the funds necessary to hire someone full time.
My sister was the obvious choice, but even that didn’t suffice. When the third summer camp kicked up, it took both of them to run it, leaving Michael and I to hop between the budding restaurant and Cheyenne’s Horse Sanctuary in order to keep it afloat. We hadn’t made it through the summer before we realized she would have to hire on another full-time hand for her operations, and that’s when we started interviewing people.
There was a man from out of town who had recently moved to the area and was looking for a job. He didn’t have much in the way of experience with ranches, but he had grown up around horses all his life until his parents passed. He explained all he knew about taking care of horses and talked about how he had single-handedly taken care of his parents’ small farm a few counties over while making sure they were alright, and I could tell the story resonated with Cheyenne.
But she was sold when he mentioned that he’d have to sell his horses if he couldn’t find a way to provide for them.
“Why don’t you just bring them with you?” she asked.
“I don’t have a way to get them here,” he said.
“We could help you pick them up. You said there are only two horses, right?”
I wasn’t sold on the idea of having some out-of-towner come randomly work her ranch full time while bringing his own horses along, but Cheyenne was dead set in her decision. We went and picked up his two beautiful horses, and we set him up in Cheyenne’s old house until he could find himself a place. A few weeks turned into a few months, and when we found out how well he was taking care of the house, we roped it into his salary and let him stay there so long as he was working full time for us.
Everything settled into place like it needed to, and it equally divvied all the responsibilities out without anyone being run into the ground.
Well, until we got pregnant.
“I can’t wait to get back out there with my horses,” Cheyenne groaned while I massaged her feet.
“I know you miss them, and I’m sure they miss you. But you’ve still got one more week of bedrest before the doctor comes to check on you again.”
“I know, I know.”
“Speaking of bedrest, why weren’t you resting when I pulled up? You were bent over fussing with something when I pulled into the driveway.”
“You spying on me, Mr. Smith?” she asked coyly.
“Only if I get a nice look at that wonderful backside of yours.”
“I think there’s a mouse in the house. I hear it scurrying, but I can’t find it.”
“I’ll set out some traps before we get to bed. Sound good?” I asked.
“Perfect,” she said. I dug into the arch of her foot, and her eyes fluttered closed. Her ankles were swelling so bad I could no longer see their protrusion, and I started to wonder if that was something to be worried about. Bedrest was common for women in their third trimester, and the doctor said it was only precautionary, but I was ready for him to come back over and check on her. The last time he’d come, her blood pressure was a bit high, and she was a little too anemic for his liking.
“How have you been feeling today?” I asked her.
“Do you ever think about Bill?”
Her question ceased my movements.
“Why?” I asked.
“I mean, he went into witness protection, right?”
“Yeah. Sold out all his contacts to the FBI. Why are you suddenly wondering about him?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I guess with Rick getting out soon and everything, it’s all just coming back.”
I set her feet down and got up off the floor. I had a feeling she might be worried about that, so I wrapped my arm around her and pulled her swollen, beautiful body into the crook of mine.
“You know he’ll be tracked for quite some time after he gets out of jail,” I said. “You won’t have to worry about him coming around here, either. I’ve still got those cameras up.”
“I know, I know. I just…”
I knew she was thinking about the letters he’d written us from jail. Apparently, he’d found God and was feeling all sorts of guilt and remorse for what he’d done, but none of us knew if it was really true. He sent letters every week for a while, but then they dissipated to once a month. One of the reasons I hired Rick was because he was down and out and had no family, and part of me was wondering if he was simply reaching out because he was lonely.
“You think he’s just doing it to sway the parole board?” Cheyenne asked.
“I honestly don’t know. I mean, I hope it’s true. I hope he feels terrible for what happened and what he put you through, and I hope he gets out and does something productive with his life. But I need you to know that you’re safe here. Both of you. Forever, as long as I’m here.”
I put my hand on her stomach, and I automatically felt another kick. Cheyenne grimaced at the feeling, but I couldn’t help the smile that slid across my lips. My little girl would be a fighter, just like her mother, and there was a part of me that took pride in the idea of raising a strong, independent young woman.
“Do you ever regret it?” I asked.
“Regret what?”
“You know what I’m talking about,” I said with a snicker.
I wondered some days. I wondered—with the life we had cultivated and the roadblocks we still hit sometimes with expansion and money—if she ever regretted not taking the job that was offered to her at the silent auction all those years ago. I wondered if there were moments where she envisioned her life going differently. I wondered sometimes if maybe she wanted to leave and try to venture out on her own again.
I twirled the sparkling diamond ring on her left hand that I had given her just before we found out we were pregnant, and I took her hand and brought it to my lips to kiss.
“Well, it really would’ve set me up nicely,” she said. “A retirement plan and weekends off. I wouldn’t have to deal with ordering stuff or dealing with hiring helping hands. I could have gotten out of this town that reminds me sometimes of all the bullshit we endured.”
I held her close to me and closed my eyes. Images of her barn on fire flashed through my mind. Images of the terror in her eyes when she first heard that deafening silence as the horse trapped in the barn grew still. The memory of the flames tugged at my heart and clenched my throat.
In the history of my lifetime, I had never felt so helpless and scared as I was at that moment when Cheyenne was hurting over the loss of that horse.
“And I also bet the helping hands at that horse sanctuary would have provided some grade-A eye candy,” she said, with a grin.
“Hey, now. Watch that mouth of yours.”
“No, you idiot,” she said. “I haven’t thought about it in years.”
She turned her head up towards mine, and as our lips connected, for a brief moment the images faded away. My chest settled, my heart fluttered, and it felt like the vice on my throat was slowly being cranked open. Hearing her say she hadn’t made a mistake made me feel like I wasn’t holding her back from her aspirations. I had always encouraged her to do what she wanted and not to take me into consideration when mapping out her future, and I was scared that I’d ripped that from her the moment she’d gotten pregnant.
“I love you so much, Colt Smith. In a couple of months, we’re gonna be parents, and then we’ll start planning a town-wide wedding everyone can attend. Your chef can show off more of his dishes and Tiffany will love decorating the town square, and our child will be there to witness us pledge our love for one another. This is all I ever could have dreamed of or wished for when it comes to my life, and I’m just lucky that I’m marrying my best friend, my lover, and my own personal grade-A eye candy.”
“Now, that sounds more like it,” I said. I nibbled at her lips with a kiss, and her swollen body turned into mine. In an instant, my blood began to heat. No matter how much she complained about her stomach and no matter how many stretch marks tore into her body, she could still rile me up even after the hardest of days. Her tongue danced along mine while her bouncing breasts mashed against my chest, and I slid to the floor between her legs before I started shimmying her out of her pants.
“Feels like someone could use a little treat,” I said.
“God, yes,” Cheyenne whispered.
I peeled her layers back until her red, juicy pussy was bared only for me, and I pressed my lips to it before I slicked my tongue into her depths. For as long as I lived, I’d never get tired of the way she would buck into my face and wrap her legs around my head. I’d never get tired of how tightly she’d grip my hair and how close she’d want me to her body, but the best part was the words that easily fell from her lips whenever I could finally throw her plump, pregnant body over the edge.
“I love you, Colt Smith, I love you.”
I would happily do this every day for the rest of her life just to hear those words from her lips.
DADDY NEXT DOOR
By Claire Adams
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Claire Adams
Chapter One
Vivie
I switched the station when the opening riff of Guns 'n' Roses' Sweet Child O' Mine hit my ears. It had always been one of Dad's favorite tunes — one he played on guitar a lot and one he'd sang to me as a kid. It didn’t matter that he'd been gone for four years; not a day went by that I didn't miss him or think of him. And something like that song reminding me of everything he’d been as a dad and how he loved me; it was just too much to take after the day I’d had. Not to mention, I sure as hell didn't want to break down and start crying in the middle of five o' clock traffic.
I kept one hand on the steering wheel as I flipped between stations, stopping on a local talk show where the radio host, Arthur Valley, was interviewing a local detective. I pricked my ears and fine-tuned the radio so I could hear more clearly; crime stories always fascinated me, and it sure wasn't as if we had many crime sprees here in Irvine. So, my interest was piqued.
“Good afternoon, and welcome to the show, Sam,” Arthur said. “I want to point out to our listeners that 'Sam' isn't our detective's real name; he needs to remain anonymous since he is working undercover, and if his identity is discovered, that would put Sam in serious danger.”
“That's true, Arthur,” said the man. “I deal with some very unsavory people on a daily basis.”
“And that, ladies and gents, is why we've also put a filter on Sam's voice. He doesn't actually sound like Darth Vader in real life.”
I chuckled at that. The guy did sound a lot like Darth Vader was coming through my speakers.
“Unfortunately, no, I don't,” Sam commented with a laugh. “But how cool would it be if I did?”
“Well, why don't we get started? First of all, thanks for coming on the show today, we really appreciate you taking time out of your busy schedule to be here with us.”
“Not at all, Arthur. The residents of Irvine need to know what's happening behind closed doors in this town, and some of it ain't pretty… it ain't pretty at all.”
“What exactly is going on here in Irvine that's got you working undercover?”
“I’m afraid we've got a problem here, Arthur. No, not just a problem: a crisis. And I'm not exaggerating when I say that. We have a serious, serious problem affecting our youth,” Sam said.
“What is this problem?” Arthur asked.
“Drugs. Local high schools – and middle schools as well – are riddled with a new drug that's been sweeping across Southern California.”
“What are we talking here, Sam? Simple pot, or cocaine, or is it something as bad as meth or heroin?” the talk show host questioned.
“While those remain problem drugs not only here but across the entire United States, what we've got here is something entirely new. The kids are calling it Rocket because it gets you very high very quickly. We're fairly confident it's being cooked up in a mobile lab out in the desert or perhaps up in the mountains, as distribution seems to be limited to Southern California. Although, it's starting to spread to other parts of California, and it won't be long before it crosses state lines and makes its way into other states.”
“Tell us more about the drug itself,” Arthur urged. “What does it look like? What effect does it have? Who's using it? What are the dangers?”
“Well, Arthur. It's a blue powder, and what makes it dangerous is how quickly it's absorbed by the body – hence the name Rocket. You don't have to snort it; you can ingest it in all sorts of ways. It's tasteless, so it can just be mixed into soda and drank. The effects, which kick in within a minute or two, are feelings of euphoria, extremely lowered inhibitions, mild hallucinations and slowed reflexes and motor skills. The side effects are terrible, though. Not only does it create intense cravings for more – which, of course, leads to addiction – it physically eats away the insides of the user. It's highly acidic in nature, and contains a number of extremely harmful substances that should not, under any circumstances, be inside the human body.”
“Gosh, that sounds terrifying! How widespread is the use and distribution of this drug?”
“Like I said, it's worming its way into all of the local high schools, and—”
I switched stations. Teenage drug use was far too depressing to think about. With kids as young as junior high students getting into this sort of stuff, I couldn't help but wonder what was wrong with the world. I couldn't bear to think of the kids at my daycare getting into this sort of stuff in a few years when some of them headed to middle school. I'd always had a great fondness for kids, and I really loved the little tykes at my daycare, even if they could be something of a handful sometimes.
I pulled into the parking lot of the local grocer and went in to pick up a few items I needed. After a quick trip down the aisles, I went and stood in line at a register. It appeared that only two checkout counters were working. I took out my phone to check up on Facebook, but before I could, a familiar voice interrupted me.
“Vivienne Andrews, how lovely to see you!”
I knew the voice at once. My neighbor, Mrs. Joan Dobbins — a sweet older lady who did little else but sit on her porch with her Maltese poodle, Fluffy, and observe the comings and goings of our neighborhood from sunrise to sunset and often beyond.
“Hi, Mrs. Dobbins,” I said with a smile. “It's nice to see you, too.”
“I love what you've done with your hair. It's still nice and long, but it looks so stylish now! And you've always had the loveliest blonde hair.”
“Thank you,” I said with an appreciative smile. “I just had it layered and textured a little. I've always liked this length, just down around my shoulder blades.”
“It really does suit you. I couldn't stand having long hair myself, but my old Frank, bless his heart, he loved my long hair when I was young, so I kept it long for him. When he passed 22 years ago, though, the first thing I did was cut it, and it's been short ever since!”
I laughed politely – it wasn't the first time I'd heard that story.
“I don't think I'll cut mine anytime soon,” I said, hoping that the line would move a little faster. Mrs. Dobbins was nice enough, but she could talk until she was blue in the face and you were too.
“You shouldn't cut it, dear; you look absolutely stunning. Why, I don't know why some man hasn't come and swept you off your feet yet. They must be beating down your door.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” I mumbled, not wanting to get on the topic with her. Like her story, it wasn’t the first time. “I'm just so busy with the daycare, and I've got those repairs to take care of around the house—”
She cut me off. “And that's why you need a good man by your side, Vivienne!”
I chuckled, somewhat uncomfortably. “I guess so,” I mumbled. Why wasn't this line moving?
“Speaking of men, there's a new fellow that moved in across the road from us this past weekend while you were out of town.”
That piqued my interest. The house across the street had been empty for months.
“Really? The Sanchez place?”
“That's right – someone's finally bought it. And I tell you what, between you and me, he's quite a looker! You should go say hello to him. Maybe bake him a pie. You know, offer a good neighborly welcome,” she said with a wink and a smile.
I laughed. “I thought you said you wanted me to welcome him to the neighborhood. You’ve obviously never eaten any pie I’ve tried to bake,” I smiled at her.
“Well, how about I bake the pie for you, and then you go across the street and give it to him?”
I laughed. “We'll see about that. So, I know you have the scoop. What’s his story?”
“He's the new principal of that high school three blocks away, what's it called again?” she asked.
“JFK High.”
“Ah, yes.”
I felt somewhat disappointed; if he was the principal, that meant he'd be a good bit older than me. Most likely in his 40s or 50s. Not that I was interested or anything, but it might be nice to have someone close to my own age move in near me. I'd been in Irvine for two years now, but still only had a handful of friends, none of whom lived in my neighborhood.
“Well, I actually thought he was just a teacher until I spoke to him. He's so young for a principal,” Mrs. Dobbins said, rummaging around in her purse for something.
My interest was officially piqued again.
“Really? And just how old is he?” I asked, trying not to sound too interested. If I seemed too interested, Mrs. Dobbins would make it her mission to bake me a pie a week until she was satisfied we were either going to get married, or one of us was batting for the other team.
“He's only 32. Would you believe it, just 32 years old and already the principal of a high school?”
“That is surprising,” I remarked. “I guess he knows his stuff.”
“I guess he does. And like I said, he's a right handsome fella, too. And he seems like such a nice, polite young man. I'm more than happy to bake a nice blueberry pie if you'd like to take it over to him. And I promise that your secret will be safe with me. He'll never find out that it wasn't you who baked the pie!”
I laughed. “Maybe I'll take you up on that offer, Mrs. Dobbins, but not right away.”
The line had finally moved, and I was able to start loading my items up onto the checkout counter while the person in front of me was busy getting their total added up.
“Well, looks like I've gotta sort this out now, Mrs. Dobbins,” I said to her. “It's been nice chatting with you. I'll see you later, I imagine. I have some stuff to do in my yard.”
“And I'll be on the porch with Fluffy, enjoying a nice iced tea. Would you like me to make extra for you if you're going to be out in your yard in this heat? There's nothing like a good iced tea on a warm summer evening.”
“If you've got any to spare, I might take you up on that offer later,” I said with a smile. “Thanks, Mrs. Dobbins. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
“I will, Vivienne, dear. See you later.”
The clerk turned to me as she passed the last of my items over the scanner.
Ten minutes later, I turned onto my street and slowed down as I neared my house. I saw, from a distance, someone in the front yard of the house across the street from mine – the house that had formerly belonged to the Sanchez family, the house Mrs. Dobbins and I had been talking about.
As I drew closer, my eyes widened as I got a clearer view of the man in the yard mowing the lawn. A mundane task, yeah, but he was doing it clad only in a pair of gym shorts and running shoes. I had to make myself look back at the road so I didn’t hit a neighbor’s mailbox. One thing was certain; he didn't look like any school principal I'd ever seen. I might have wanted to go to school if my principal had been blessed with an Adonis-like physique and surfer's tan. I couldn't take my eyes off my new neighbor. The man was ripped.
Mrs. Dobbins had not been exaggerating; he was ridiculously attractive with his strong jaw covered with a five o' clock shadow and stylish black hair that was just long enough my fingers were itching to run through it just looking at him from the road. It’s a good thing the speed limit in our neighborhood was only 10 miles per hour. Otherwise, my gawking would have been obvious.
I pulled into my driveway and parked the car, hoping that he hadn't noticed my staring when I had driven slowly past him. Thankfully, he seemed too absorbed in his task to notice, so I got out the car and took a few more good, long looks at him as inconspicuously as possible while unpacking my groceries.
Things around the neighborhood had just taken an intriguing turn. The really attractive man mowing the lawn shirtless just across the road from me was proof. Not that I wanted to get into anything, but I sure couldn't complain about the view.
Out of habit, I wondered if he was single. But someone that looked like him couldn't possibly be – not unless he was a player. Although, someone in a position of responsibility with such a public persona as a high school principal was probably unlikely to be a player. His job and reputation would depend on him not being one. Or at least being very good at keeping a low profile at it. But in a town like ours, someone would find out.
I shook my head and turned my focus to my groceries. “Doesn’t matter what he does in his free time, Vivienne,” I mumbled to myself. I was not ready to get into anything with a man, not yet, not after Simon. Just the thought of that man sent shivers of revulsion and disgust down my spine. It had been three years, and while I had mostly been able to put my life back together, some things just took time to fix. Longer than I would have ever imagined. So, no, I definitely wasn't ready to let another guy into my life, not in any sort of intimate way.
I carried my groceries inside and couldn't help but throw one last glance over my shoulder at the hot new neighbor as he pushed his mower around the lawn. He looked up just as I looked at him and our eyes met for a second. A jolt of embarrassment rippled through me, and a red heat flushed through my cheeks. He raised a hand and waved at me. I waved back awkwardly and hurried inside, closing the door quickly behind me.
I set my groceries down on the kitchen counter and let out a sigh of relief. That was close! He'd almost caught me ogling him. I started to unpack the eggs and almost dropped them when a knock at my door broke the silence. My heart practically jumped into my throat. I took a few steps back to the door, my heart pounding, and peered through the peephole. My jaw dropped. Standing there in all his shirtless, sweat-glistening glory was my new neighbor.